Mayn't Change the World
by Dessert Maniac
Summary: AU in which Homura isn't too messed up, practically everyone is alive, and they're trying to make the best of it. Because we mayn't be able to change the world, but we can change ourselves - and that'll have to be enough. [I don't know where I'm going with this.] [Slice-of-life sorta.] [I own nothing.]
1. Dernière Danse

**Dernière Danse - Last Dance **

_The curtain rose (the fog came in)._

_The witch's barrier bled into the landscape (below the stage, the conductor lifted his hands). _

_Her heart thumped erratically in her chest (her face was set in a determined scowl). It was cliché (naïve), really. The breathless anticipation of the silent audience found its counterpart in the restless thrumming of blood in her veins (the carnival noises of the familiars were met with explosions from her grenades). She tore her gaze away from them._

'Again.' _Could she do it again?_

_Across the stage from her was Madoka (Walpurgis). The maniacal laughter was impossible to miss, but she focused on the witch's odd gear base (her bright smile was impossible to miss, but what caught her attention was the pinkette's flowing dress). A flowing ball gown to match her own elaborate suit (a manifestation to match her own transformation)._

_They met in the middle. They fought (they danced). She lost herself in Madoka's warmth (in cold metal). Her head ached. The darkness strained her eyes (the spotlights were too bright). Walpurgis was bellowing (Madoka was talking) but she couldn't, couldn't understand what they were saying._

_Graceful, dizzying circles, and Madoka's dress billowed out as Homura raised her arm to spin her (fire billowed from Walpurgis as Homura leapt across buildings to destroy her). The blue-purple blur was all she could focus on—that sadistic grin and her own menacing snarl even though blood ran down her temple and her hands really were heavy (the blur of pink in her arms was all she could see—that delighted grin and her own breathless chuckle even though their hands were sweaty and she really was dizzy)._

_Walpurgis screeched (Madoka laughed) in response. She mustered a smile. The waltz picked up its pace and they hastened to keep up (the winds picked up and she had to keep up)._

_Her heart lurched painfully and though she smiled through it, she felt trapped. Madoka looked at her expectantly, beaming widely (Walpurgis hovered, waiting, and cackled at her). She had a role to play. She wanted to break away, to run, to escape and never have to face this again. _

'Let _them_ deal with it,'_ came the insidious thought._

_The brisk pace of the music sought to consume her, arms straining as she loaded the dance with as much force as she could muster (dozens of AT-4s lugged over her shoulders, even more lifted by her magic, she was an army of one). She leapt from building to building, avoiding the rubble and debris as Walpurgis spun ever closer, heedless of the wasteland around them (she spun Madoka, they came together, they separated—one moment their breath mingled and then they were at arm's length away)._

_After all, what would they have done in her place? She could stop anytime she wanted, no one could condemn her for it. Imagine—Madoka's pretty dress in shreds and Walpurgis intact. She herself would be gone and free of inhibitions. This world did not deserve to live, anyway.  
_

_She dipped Madoka (she fired missiles at Walpurgis). Her arms labored against the pace of the dance (her eyes squinted against the rain). She could walk away (she could drop her)._

_But she cared too much._

_One-two-three, one-two-three, and somehow they slowed to a stop. (Walpurgis headed towards the shelter.) The decision was not hers in the end. The stage lights made Madoka's ball gown sparkle and shimmer, resplendent (the fog obscured Walpurgis). Familiars were in pandemonium (the audience was clapping, shouting, shouting 'Encore! Encore!')._

_Sweat gave her face a shine, her heart beat fast, her head throbbed. Yet again? They asked too much of her._

"_That was amazing!" Madoka leant in even closer to her when the song ended. They automatically bowed, but then Madoka glanced at her properly and noted Homura's clenched jaw. "Do you want to stop?" she asked, concerned. Always concerned. One gloved hand reached out for Homura—when had she backed up?_

_She hesitated. Did she truly want to stop? But she could not continue._

_Enthusiastic cheers drew her attention. She gaped at the audience. She didn't know what to do. She had made a commitment—_'you cannot back out _now_!'

_The conductor returned and she felt her heart clench painfully because she was running out of time, time, that blasted commodity, time. She _always _took too long to decide._

_But she was Akemi Homura, and Akemi Homura _was not _a failure, not as long as she had any say about it._

_Violins picked up again. Madoka looked ready to call it all short, tearing her gaze away from her._

_She took a deep breath._

_Her eyes shone with determination as she tugged on Madoka's small hands. She smiled resolutely._

_Slowly,_

_ almost serenely,_

_ they danced. One last dance._

／人◕‿‿◕人＼

"Homura-chan~!"

Homura's head snapped up, the pounding in her head flaring briefly then receding as her lips twitched in a small smile. She quickly washed her sweaty hands.

A dull ache built up again in her forehead. She ignored it, rapping her knuckles lightly on her forehead before heading out of the kitchen to let her very best friend come in, unsurprised by the pinkette's visit.

Madoka's beaming grin greeted her. "Homura-chan, that apron looks really nice!" Madoka clapped her hands upon seeing the ex-time-traveler's attire. Blushing faintly, Homura looked down at herself: she wore a cream-colored apron decorated with dark purple flowers and tied with an elegant black ribbon over a plain white tee and black jeans.

"It was a present from Tomoe-san," she murmured as she let the pinkette come in. Madoka left her bag and shoes in the hallway, next to Homura's things, and replied, "I'm glad you two are getting along."

Homura shrugged idly, saying, "It was more of a thank-you for bringing Sakura-san back." She absently rubbed her forehead and motioned for the pinkette to follow her back into the kitchen. Spying the restaurant-style bento box lying half-filled on the table, Madoka eagerly interjected, "Ne, Homura-chan, can I help?" At Homura's nod, Madoka washed her hands and happily began scooping up diced vegetables into a container. The taller girl took some apples and began washing them.

As she artfully arranged the vegetables, helping Homura in her bi-weekly ritual, Madoka continued the conversation. "Mami-san _is _really grateful that you found Kyouko-san before she did something silly. Yuma-chan and Nagisa-chan, too—they're probably going to shower you with thanks on Monday," she laughed, glancing at Homura. When Homura rolled her eyes but smiled faintly, Madoka added, "Homura-chan's so popular now, saving everyone and having so many admirers! Soon you'll have no time for me!" She pouted, though her eyes twinkled with mischief.

Homura immediately shook her head. "I will always have time for you, Madoka," she stated gravely, her purple eyes gazing intently at Madoka, who practically radiated happiness.

_Even after a year some things do not change_, she mused. Others could be in her company and not be reprimanded or scorned by her. The minutes could pass by and be absently counted, yet not resented, not feared. She could wake up and not fear the imminent arrival of Walpurgisnacht. For all of the changes, however, she would never leave Madoka.

The mere thought was absurd.

_One more Saturday morning spent getting ready to visit my grandmother with Madoka. I would not even be here if it were not for her_.

Therefore, she settled into the normal routine Madoka provided.

_Normal_…

Huh. Routine she was used to, but _normal_? It was funny, really. Sometimes she had to remind herself where she was because the thought of _normal _was disconcerting to Homura, who had gone a painfully long time—a year, an eternity—without even considering anything beyond a painful month's worth of days in one painful year.

Even now, "normal" did not exist for her (because she still teetered on that fine line between life and death on a daily basis—_crippled_).

Sometimes she thought it was a dream. On those days, she would not relax until she woke up the next day still in this timeline.

_Yet, from an outsider's view, everything is perfectly _ordinary_. Nothing grand, nothing that merits awe or gratitude._

_Everything is_

_just_

_perfectly_

_normal…_

She set down the knife, wary of cutting herself, and instead gathered the apples she had sliced into a container, and passed it all to Madoka to make into bunny apples. While the pinkette busied herself with her new task, Homura checked on the rice cooker. Contented humming filled in the empty spaces as Madoka carefully peeled apple slices into bunnies.

The kitchen was very warm. She absently wiped her forehead with her sleeve. _I should have waited for the rice to cool a little longer, but it is fine. A little steam cannot hurt me_.

Eyes half-closed, Homura focused on regulating her breathing to settle down. Slow, deliberate—but inaudible—breaths took all of her concentration as her hands automatically worked from muscle memory to make rice balls.

But her blood was throbbing in her temples again, and while pain flared in her head, her measured breathing lulled her even deeper into a dizzy haze. _Very… warm in here, isn't it? Too… warm_. _My hands are sticky_. She shifted uncomfortably.

Vaguely, a faint terror stirred in the back of her mind, the back of her heart. Her eyes saw not the onigiri she was shaping, but rather blurry, distant worlds where Anthonys scurried around wreaking havoc and where stifling heat was the aftermath of massive explosions. Her heart raced.

Everything faded to grey, skewed for a moment, the world frozen, and Madoka's humming warped impossibly into despairing moans and groans of pain, compounding exacerbating inexorable pain.

_Nooooo_—

Distant shouts rang in her ears now, a cacophony of sound, of maddened laughter they ran and dodged desperate their chests constricted wheezing _desperate_ broken recordsroaringwrecked but that wasn't right because look—Madoka was stealing a bite of rice, having finished with the apples when she wasn't paying attention.

Alive and normal.

Homura laughed softly, something fluttering painfully in her chest, and shook her head at Madoka's inquiring glance.

_I am fine and she is safe. Everything else is superfluous_.

"Homura-chan? Are you okay?" Madoka disregarded Homura's dismissive gesture and moved closer, scanning her face for any signs of distress. "Your face is red, and you're sweating a lot," she noted fretfully.

_Ohhh—_"I forgot to take the medications again," she confessed, appearing slightly contrite. It irked her, of course, that she had to rely on medication even though her hospital years were in the past and had magic at her disposal (well, not really, which was why the medications were at all necessary. Stupid malfunctioning magic).

Her throat constricted, but Madoka's eyes had widened and she began fussing. "So that's why you kept rubbing your forehead… did you have any episodes? Are you feeling—"

"Madoka, Madoka," Homura interrupted, placing her hands on the worried pinkette's shoulders. Her lips twitched, trying to be reassuring (_how does one reassure someone else?_) and apparently succeeding, for Madoka fell silent and waited wide-eyed for her very best friend to explain. At least she had inadvertently drawn Homura out of her thoughts.

"Ah, yes, yes I did have a couple of episodes"—Madoka frowned at that—"though I am not unwell. I should be fine once I take the dose," Homura explained.

Knowing Homura's habit of downplaying anything related to herself, Madoka insistently tugged her towards a chair and firmly declared, "Okay, but sit here while I get a glass of water and your medications."

Sighing in acquiescence, Homura sat down, letting Madoka take care of her.

_Wait—how does she know where the medicine is? _She frowned, wracking her mind for an explanation. When she remembered, she was not pleased. Grumbling to herself about Incubators and "no respect for privacy," Homura crossed her arms and slumped further into the chair.

Only moments later, Madoka bounded back into the kitchen with two pill bottles in hand. Homura shifted her glare to the offending items.

Noticing, Madoka shook her head, saying, "You have to take your medicine, Homura-chan. Here, take these and—wait, let me get a glass for you—take one of each." The mahou shoujo dutifully followed the instructions, though she muttered petulantly, "I am not a child, Madoka."

The pinkette leveled her with an amused look. "You were pouting when I came back," she pointed out.

Indignant, Homura huffed and stood again, flipping her hair behind her. Madoka giggled.

"I am glad you find me so amusing, Madoka," Homura said dryly, "but we have to finish the bento for obaasan."

"There's only putting it all together and cleaning up," Madoka replied as Homura gulped down water and a couple of pills.

She nodded, swallowing forcefully. "I will put these away—can you finish the rest for me?" she asked after washing down the medicine with more water.

"Of course, Homura-chan!" Madoka beamed, already flitting about. The ex-time-traveler watched her briefly, stoic mask instinctively in place again.

Upon noticing, Madoka took a bunny apple, popped it into her mouth, and winked at Homura. _Homura-chan deserves to be happy_. Her grin widened when Homura blushed and left, ostensibly to put away her medicine but probably to hide her own small smile. _Seeing her so _fragile_ is wrong. Well, what do I know of what Homura-chan has gone through? Of course Homura-chan has every right to be sad_.

When Homura returned, Madoka was waiting in the hallway with the packed bento. Pausing, Homura stared at her smiling face for a few seconds.

Concerned, the pinkette asked, "Are you feeling sick again, Homura-chan?" Though "sick" wasn't quite what she meant.

"I—yes, Madoka," Homura reassured her, but she remained rooted to her spot a few feet away. Madoka's brow crinkled, once again not fully believing her friend, and looked at Homura expectantly. She did not always let her very best friend get away with hiding things.

Realizing that Madoka was probably getting uncomfortable by now (she did not _look _uncomfortable but one could never trust Homura's judgment on these things), Homura blurted out, "Madoka!" Her cheeks flushed but she hastily amended, "Thank you, Madoka."

Madoka frowned adorably in confusion, but no explanation was forthcoming. She closed the distance between them and gently reached out for Homura's shoulder, fingers just barely felt, but sending thrills through a suddenly hypersensitive Homura nonetheless.

"I know—" Homura tried to continue, but sometimes she spoke in fits and starts, her cheeks flushed red and lips pressed into a tight line.

She absently reached for a braid to fiddle with—_oh, that is right. Everything keeps mixing up in my mind_, so her hands fell uselessly to her sides. Madoka's fingers remained just barely grazing Homura's right shoulder (Madoka's fingers _so close I can feel their warmth_). Her face reddened even further.

A painful pause, then Homura ground out, "Thank you for coming w-with me, Madoka, to visit my sobo. I-it's difficult for me, you know, to…." She trailed off, scowling at her shoes. _I cannot even hold a decent conversation with her_. Self-hatred twisted in her heart.

(Sometimes, thoughts escaped their cage and taunted her—all her failures and insecurities became phobias and crippling beliefs.)

Warm, loving hands grasped her own; startled, she met Madoka's pink gaze. "Don't worry; I'll never leave my Homura-chan!" Her infectious grin tugged a corresponding smile from Homura, though she tried to quell the hope that welled up in her heart at the words "my Homura-chan."

_Hers_.

A dream she wanted to pursue (but again, _crippling phobias _and _insecurity_, not to mention her mental health).

"C'mon, Homura-chan, or we'll be late for the train!" Madoka slipped from her grasp and skipped cheerfully away, bento and bags already in hand. But she turned back suddenly, asking, "You have your doses for the rest of today and tomorrow packed in here, right?"

The ex-time-traveler sighed. "Yes, I made sure last night. I did not forget."

Madoka looked at her appraisingly, then replied, "Just making sure, Homura-chan. I'll wait for you outside, okay?" Homura nodded.

_I have to take care of myself better_. She ducked into the kitchen to wash her hands one more time before following Madoka out.

* * *

Unable to muster up any interest for the book she had brought along, Homura found herself gazing mindlessly out the train windows. If they had been alone, she would have pulled out her soul gem to account energy, but there were a couple of other passengers a few seats back, so she left well enough alone.

Glancing at Madoka beside her, the pinkette did not seem to suffer the same boredom: she was completely absorbed in her doodles and blissfully unaware of her friend's dilemma. Huffing internally, Homura returned her gaze to the scenery.

When she could not stand the ennui, Homura spoke up. "Madoka."

The other girl turned to her, briefly looking startled before she beamed at her (Homura liked to think it was a special smile, just for her). "Yes, Homura-chan?"

"Do you want something to eat?" _Please say yes_.

Concerned pink eyes looked at her questioningly. "Um… no, I ate enough at breakfast." Madoka suddenly laughed. "Are you _bored_, Homura-chan?" she asked teasingly.

A scowl was her answer. Madoka hummed pensively, still smiling. Homura watched her, her face softening as she watched Madoka's eyes light up and the pinkette rummaged through her school bag. _Some things truly never change_, she thought fondly.

"Ah-ha!" Madoka exclaimed. She waved a slim notebook at Homura, who blinked and leant back. "I couldn't remember where I left it," Madoka admitted sheepishly, "but anyway, I found my math notebook. Maybe you could help me with Friday's homework?" Her hopeful expression had Homura immediately agreeing.

"You should be a little more organized," Homura chastised her as she pulled out a couple of pencils from her own bag. "Though, you have improved significantly. Miki-san should follow your example," she added, frowning at the thought of the blue-haired rebel. She snorted. _Miki Sayaka is more of a rebel than Sakura Kyouko_.

Beside her, Madoka sighed exasperatedly but did not comment. She scooted a little closer to Homura, smiling secretly to herself.

The taller girl looked through the math problems they had been assigned. "It looks like you have already finished?" she began, glancing at Madoka and internally freezing when she noticed their proximity.

"Yeah, it's just that I got stuck on the last one and just couldn't figure it out," Madoka pointed to said problem, frowning as she remembered her frustration the night before.

_Okay, breathe, Homura. She is asking for your help, so pull yourself together_. She glanced back at the homework, though it took her a few moments to focus and understand what she was looking at.

"Ah. Conic sections, yes. I have not done these in a while,"—she immersed herself in the math, recalling what she knew as her eyes analyzed Madoka's work—"Hm. You flipped a sigh by accident." She handed the notebook with the mistake circled back to Madoka, who studied it intently.

"Oh!" Madoka shook her head, smiling. "I don't know how I overlooked that." Her pencil scratched away as Madoka reworked the problem. Homura observed her work, making sure that the pinkette had no more issues.

Just minutes later, Madoka returned the pencil to Homura and put away her notebook. "Thanks, Homura-chan!" she said, turning back to her companion.

Homura shrugged, looking back out the train's windows. "I took pre-calculus last year, Madoka," she reminded her. _The time loops at least helped in that respect_, she inwardly acknowledged.

Madoka pouted as she went back to her sketch pad. Bored again, Homura let her eyes close and she was slowly lulled to sleep by the faint hum of the train (_blasted medications had better be doing their work_, she grumbled).

The pinkette did not notice Homura fall asleep, her entire focus being on her drawing of a happy little home. _Almost done, just need to add in me and Homura-chan_~

Tongue in cheek, she let her mind wander as she drew.

_Happily ever after, with a nice little house somewhere, and we'll wake up every day next to each other and fall asleep together and—and Homura-chan will work and I'll be the perfect housewife for her…_

When she finished, she eagerly straightened to show her best friend. She paused, lovingly noting that Homura was slumped in her seat, asleep. She carefully brushed a lock of Homura's hair off her face.

"Sleep well, Homura-chan," she whispered.

／人◕‿‿◕人＼

When she woke up, pink dominated her line of sight and she bolted upright, banging her head against another head.

"Ah!" Madoka yelped, scrambling back to and rubbing her forehead.

"M-Madoka?" Homura clutched her head, staring befuddled at Madoka. Her heart rate, a part of her noted, was elevated even though she had just woken up. She took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled.

Across from her, Madoka also held her aching head, though her face was an odd mixture of concern and embarrassment. "G-gomen, Homura-chan. Are you okay?" she apologetically asked.

"It's okay, I am fine, Madoka," Homura automatically replied before shaking her head forcefully.

Instinctively scrutinizing the area as she calmed, she noted that the other occupants of their carriage had left while she was asleep, leaving her all alone with Madoka. She frowned. She had not meant to fall asleep, especially not with her contacts on, which she would have to remove immediately. "I will be back, Madoka. I am going to take out my contacts," she said, resisting the urge to rub her uncomfortable eyes.

"Oh, do you need your glasses?" Madoka asked, already reaching for Homura's bag.

"Yes. They are in the left side pocket. Your left, not mine." Taking the case, Homura nodded to Madoka and quickly left.

She was not gone long, returning only a few minutes later with her glasses on.

Scanning their compartment again, Homura reaffirmed that they were indeed completely alone. She blushed but mustered the courage to sit directly next to Madoka, who glanced up and smiled at her before going back to coloring her drawing.

Cheeks still flushed by her small boldness, Homura abashedly turned to watch the scenery.

In the windows, the fields of green and yellow had given way to the outlying suburbs of Niigata—grey concrete buildings, the occasional painted house, trees swaying in the breeze. If she tilted her head a certain way, she could see her own reflection. But her reflection was not interesting, so she focused again on the outside world, realizing that they were close to arriving.

_I _could_ strike up a conversation with Madoka—but no, she is busy and probably wants to finish before we arrive at Niigata_.

Her thoughts drifted.

_Niigata. It's not home, but obaasan lives there. The only family I have left_.

Aside from distant relations, Homura had only one family member left—sickness of the heart ran in the Soma line while the Akemi family had a propensity for death, thus leaving only her maternal grandmother by the time Homura turned six.

_She was perfectly fine while I was in the hospital the first time, but the moment I needed her she was suddenly on the brink of dying_.

However, she knew she was not being fair. Despite the old woman's resilience against her illness, it had struck with a vengeance just before Homura had been released from the hospital for the first time. Looking back, she knew that the loss of two more loved ones and the stress of having an orphaned granddaughter had likely triggered the heart attack that had hospitalized her grandmother.

Of course, Kaufmann Erika (born Soma, married to Kaufmann Axel), overly familiar with death, had had plans in place. She had reluctantly entrusted her little granddaughter to a reputable Catholic institution for the duration of her hospitalization, which had ended up spanning several years. The orphanage had dutifully taken Homura to visit Kaufmann weekly at the hospital, but the visits had tapered off when Homura's own health began to decline once again.

_When she could finally take care of me and herself I collapsed again and had to go back to the hospital. If only I had not been so negligent of my health…_

She had not learned her lesson about taking care of herself, however. Two hospital internships had not made her realize how her own actions derailed her health; it had taken a third hospitalization and _Kyubey_, of all things, to open her eyes.

Homura glared at her reflection in the glass, one hand unconsciously curling as if to strangle an Incubator—or herself for being an idiot.

Guilt churned uncomfortably in her stomach, but visiting her grandmother every other Saturday for the past two years had actually worked as informal therapy. First to Tokyo, then to Kyoto, and finally to Niigata as of the last month (was she searching for something, just as Homura was?), Homura made sure to follow her grandmother's progress and appreciate the only family she had left.

"Homura-chan?" The ex-time-traveler jolted out of her thoughts, though this time her knee-jerk reaction did not injure anyone.

Madoka had learned to pay attention to people's expressions, a lesson from a wary mother to her optimistic daughter. Sometimes, she would let Homura return from whatever thoughts plagued her on her own, knowing that it was necessary, but she preferred to intervene when she could.

Homura silently waited for Madoka to continue, head tilted towards her. The pinkette simply leant against Homura, who started slightly but soon relaxed.

Perhaps, without knowing, Madoka was trying to make up for her role in Homura's suffering—perhaps her subconscious collected lost memories of lost debts in lost timelines and reproached her. Something twinged in her, pulling at her heartstrings (not just around Homura, but also around her other mahou shoujo friends).

Guilt. An emotion all too familiar to her; it muddied everything else.

_Do I love her? _Yes, yes, of course she did (but what did a sixteen-year-old girl know of love, anyway?).

_I'll spend the rest of my life dedicated to making her happy because it's __**not**__ just guilt _(because she _was_ guilty of something, even if Homura refused to blame the cracks on her)_; it's love and that has to count for something, right?_

Right? True love and happily-ever-after like Sayaka-chan desperately believed…?

Besides—if blame was to be laid, it would be on everyone and then they would never get anywhere (or was she simply worming out of it? Still, she'd make right by Homura somehow). She shook her head, because there was no point in beating a dead horse.

Humming slightly, Madoka drew away from Homura again, drawing her (meandering) attention. She smiled reassuringly. "So, I got another love letter in my locker yesterday," she began, pulling out a slightly crumpled note from her pocket. Homura blinked and shifted slightly beside her, suddenly alert. "Hitomi-chan insists that it's probably Nakazawa-kun… what do you think, Homura-chan?"

Homura mumbled, "W-why would she think of Nakazawa-san?" Her hands clutched each other tightly in her lap, her face twitching.

"Weeelll," Madoka drew out the word, a different smile tugging at her lips as she solidified her resolution, "she says she saw him lingering around my locker the other day after school…."

Purple eyes suddenly peered at her, a familiar frown hiding whatever Homura truly felt. Madoka remained silent, looking expectantly at her.

Homura relented, "D-do you think…," but her voice faded. Red stained her pale cheeks even though she tried to cover it with a scowl.

"Do I think what, Homura-chan?" Madoka waited expectantly, her expression lighting up eagerly like a child's. Her friend, however, only turned her head away and scowled to herself. Madoka pouted. Being subtle had never really been her forte and Homura-chan always hesitated, so Madoka gently cupped Homura's jaw in her hand, turning Homura towards her.

"M-Madoka?"

Madoka smiled at her very best friend, tenderness practically radiating from her expressive face.

Homura, however, was very, very red as her eyes squeezed shut. Her heart sped up, beating wildly in her chest. Madoka murmured against her lips but she could not hear her over the roaring in her ears. She did not dare move.

Then—a tentative brush of lips. Madoka lent forward, one hand resting on Homura's thigh and the other holding Homura's chin in place.

"Homura-chan?" Madoka pulled away, letting the now wide-eyed Homura process the chaste kiss. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and her face grew redder and redder the longer Homura stayed quiet, but Madoka refused to let her smile waver.

_Actually, it looks like she's going to faint on me_—Madoka took Homura's face in both her hands, hastily interjecting, "Breathe, Homura-chan!"

Red cheeks welcomed the slightly cooler hands, but embarrassment and heady thrill kept them burning and honestly she felt rather light-headed; she saw Madoka's lips move but the words took a few seconds to process.

(_I'm _

_not _

_dreaming_).

"M-Madoka," Homura managed to stutter, but the giddy dizziness in her head had her reluctantly pressing two fingers to her temple instead of continuing her sentence. She wanted to grab Madoka's face and kiss her senseless as her heart careened towards "happily ever after," though she felt a warning twinge in her heart that reminded her of the need to remain calm.

She closed her eyes. Deliberate breaths filled the silence. When Homura's eyes opened and the strain in her expression eased, Madoka likewise relaxed.

They stared at each other. Then, tentatively, Madoka lent forward again, but they both dissolved into helpless giggles when their noses bumped against each other, so they had to try again.

First, breathless anticipation had Homura closing her eyes again. Then, exhilaration shot through her, leading her to smile against Madoka's lips. She laughed again, because this was _Madoka _she was kissing—_Madoka_, for whom she had sacrificed her very existence—_Madoka_, her own personal savior. Kami, it was such a dream come true—_I am _**not** _dream_—

Pain lanced through her chest, down her arms, up her jaw.

She broke away from the chaste kiss, gasping and instinctively clutching at her chest. Embarrassment surged from a small, irrational part of her mind, but she knew she had graver things to worry about. Namely, the precarious magic and medicine that kept her alive.

_I have to…_

Homura turned forward, away from Madoka, shrugging off the concerned hand on her shoulder; she did not want to see Madoka's expression when she used a grief seed.

_Stupid, utterly stupid of me—skip one dose and the consequences!_

The beginnings of desperation licked at her inner arms as one sweaty hand yanked off her ring to summon her soul gem. The next moment she was siphoning darkness away from her soul. Her eyes unconsciously closed in relief as her rigid shoulders sagged.

Madoka grimaced but cautiously placed her hand on Homura's shoulder again when she de-transformed. Homura slumped against her without protest, letting Madoka wrap her arm around her to cradle her close.

Small shudders wracked Homura; Madoka discovered that her shoulder was growing damp.

"Oh, Homura-chan, it's okay, it's okay," Madoka said against Homura's head, her breath ruffling black hair. Homura shook her head but her balled fists clutched Madoka's cardigan in a distressed manner.

Madoka shifted, wrapping her arms around Homura's waist and pulling her onto her lap. Homura pulled away, reddened eyes wide. Her lips pressed into a thin line and she frowned, but Madoka tightened her embrace.

"It's okay to cry, Homura-chan," Madoka reiterated, rocking back and forth slightly.

Tears welled up in Homura's eyes, as if Madoka's words had opened the floodgate again, and the ex-time-traveler burrowed her face in the crook of Madoka's shoulder. The pinkette nuzzled her head with her cheek and continued chanting softly, "You'll be okay, Homura-chan. It'll be okay."

／人◕‿‿◕人＼

When their train pulled into Niigata Station, Homura disentangled herself from Madoka silently. Madoka hastily offered her tissues from her bag, to which Homura murmured a hoarse "thanks."

"D-do you want to talk about it, Homura-chan?" Madoka's eyes beseeched Homura, who hesitated but ultimately shook her head.

"Obaasan is waiting, Madoka," she explained, "and we cannot have such a discussion out in the open, you know."

Madoka nodded resignedly, hastily packing her sketchpad and colored pencils into her bag as Homura took the bento and her own bag.

Forehead crinkling, Madoka said, "Let me take the bento, Homura-chan." Said magical girl frowned disapprovingly but conceded without fuss.

They exited the train silently.

A cab was waiting for them, sent by Homura's grandmother, as usual; Homura simply nodded silently at the driver while Madoka cheerfully smiled and thanked him.

Madoka jerked slightly when she felt someone grab her hand, but Homura did not meet her gaze, preferring instead to stare out the window in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. The pinkette immediately perked up, holding Homura's hand in both of her own and resisting the urge to squeal at Homura's dorkiness. She did, however, indulge in a brighter-than-usual grin (their talk could wait now that she was sure that Homura was not drowning in despair).

_We're going to have to work on _not _collapsing whenever we kiss—because there will definitely be more kisses in the future~~_

A while later, the taxi pulled up at Soma Erika's current home. Homura absently paid him, knowing her grandmother would repay her in her allowance. Madoka followed, once again insisting on carrying the bento and claiming Homura's hand as soon as she could.

Homura blushed, though it faded as she took several deep breaths to calm down while Madoka tugged her up the short walkway.

She let Madoka knock, since the bright white (heh—last time the door had been thin lines of brown with curls of greyed paint sticking out; she wondered when her grandmother had done it over) made her head ache.

They did not wait long.

* * *

The tea was bitter, but Homura did not reach for sugar like Madoka had. (Honey. She kept reminding herself to tell her grandmother to buy honey but there was never a good time to mention it.) She also ignored the biscuits and cookies arranged on a platter.

_I can eat later. There is no urgency. I really have to remember to ask obaasan to buy honey_.

They drank their tea silently. Cups clinked every so often. Madoka alternated between staring into her drink and glancing to Homura beside her. The mahou shoujo drank her tea with her eyes half closed—she probably felt drained, Madoka mused, even if her magic levels and emotional barriers had been replenished. Should she intervene? Homura-chan had a bad habit of downplaying her own maladies.

She sighed fondly into her drink. Homura-chan and her grandmother glanced at her, but she shook her head; Homura-chan needed more reassurance in the form of a smile in order to be satisfied.

_What _am _I going to do with you, Homura-chan? _Warmth suffused her words, straight from where her very best friend resided in her heart. _But just because you're cute_, she added, _doesn't mean you can land yourself in the hospital again_. A frown tugged at her lips then. That had been painful.

"Homura." Kaufmann Erika's soft voice broke the silence suddenly. Both girls jerked towards her. Homura floundered briefly (her thoughts were stuck on honey) before replying, "Yes, obaasan?"

"Your teachers tell me you have done exceedingly well this past semester." Homura nodded slowly, knowing without looking that Madoka was beaming proudly. Widow Kaufmann finished her tea and set the cup down with a final _clink_. Homura hurried to gulp down the rest of her bitter share and Madoka decided against eating another cookie, neither wanting to keep the elderly woman waiting.

As soon as the young girls were sitting with their hands clasped in their laps, Homura's grandmother reached for her cane. Homura stood as well, hands hovering uncertainly—_do I offer help? Should I wait for her to ask?_

Madoka, meanwhile, took the cups and the tray back to the kitchen. They knew the routine, but Widow Kaufmann's prolonged periods of silence often lulled them into a stillness from which the old woman's abruptness startled them anew each time. Madoka personally thought Homura's grandmother took secret pleasure in surprising them; Homura simply wished her grandmother (everyone, really) were easy to understand.

"I expect a package to come in the mail today," Widow Kaufmann mentioned on her way to the door. Homura offered her arm to support her grandmother as she slipped her shoes on. Madoka reached for an overcoat, but she waved her away. "None of that. The two of you will be doing some weeding for me. Bring the bento, Homura."

The brighter light outdoors had them all squinting slightly as Widow Kaufmann led them to a small side garden overrun with weeds.

"The space here does not allow for many plants to grow; there is no need to use up any more precious room on weeds that only suffocate and steal from the flowers. That is your task." She gestured to a box with two pairs of gloves and shears, then settled herself into a patio chair with the bento.

Madoka, being used to helping in her father's own garden, readily set to work on her knees. Homura, on the other hand, glanced skeptically at her thick pair of gloves and the weeds (_the things I must do for obaasan -sigh-_) before joining Madoka.

／人◕‿‿◕人＼

"'…someone to protect?' his father asked. He did not understand, not then…"

Homura stared at the plant in her hands. Her grandmother kept talking, but her mind zeroed in on something in particular.

'_Do you have someone to protect?'_

'_Protect the one thing you want to protect until the very end.'_

'_I am not alone anymore!'_

She tossed the weed aside with a small smile, for burgeoning bud of hope flourished just a little bit more at the unexpected reminder.

Widow Kaufmann stood then, shuffling closer to examine the girls' progress. Homura took that as a sign to stop and stretch her stiff legs. Madoka also stopped; she leant back, wiping sweat off her forehead with her sore hands but still smiling cheerfully. When she passed by Homura to return the gloves and shears, her hand brushed against Homura's; their fingers tangled together all too fleetingly.

(Okay, maybe they were a little sappy.)

Upon finishing her inspection, Homura's grandmother gestured them back into the little house.

"Ah, obaasan, may I go wash up?" Homura hesitantly asked, directing her question to a point next to her grandmother's ear. The widow Kaufmann waved her off and did not stop Madoka when she followed Homura.

In the bathroom, Homura graciously let Madoka use the sink first, even though she itched to rid herself if the dirt.

Madoka finished quickly. Homura had her hands under the running water before Madoka had even reached for the towel. Neither spoke, some minutes passing away in comfortable silence as Homura washed up and Madoka wiped away sweat with a damp towel.

Refreshed, Madoka turned to her very best friend—"Homura-chan, stop!"

She grabbed Homura's hands, pulling them apart. Homura stared at their entwined hands; her skin was red, bordering on raw at her fingers.

"O-oh." When had she…?

Her fingers twitched. Madoka shut off the faucet, making the sudden silence ring in Homura's ears. Arms enveloped her once again, pulling her into Madoka's warm embrace. Her throat tightened, because even years later she _still _slipped and did stupid things. Just as she thought she was moving on she had to mess up something.

But Madoka certainly did not care: she rocked her gently back and forth, nuzzling her, reassuring her. She regulated her breathing, taking in Madoka's familiar strawberry scent, before pulling away.

"I… will be fine, Madoka," she murmured. Someday. Eventually. Time healed all wounds, yes? So what if she slipped up sometimes—Madoka was enough incentive to keep going, even if her own thoughts turned against her.

She had someone to protect; she was not alone.

"Do you need another grief seed?" Madoka remained apprehensive.

Homura shook her head. She summoned her soul gem, showing its barely diminished brightness to Madoka.

Madoka sighed in relief. "Let me dry my hands and we can go back, Madoka," Homura murmured. She gave her a small but genuine smile, the frown on her face softening as she took the towel Madoka held out.

Slipping past her, Homura patted Madoka's shoulder soothingly. Without turning, she knew Madoka was smiling again.

_I may fall, but I will get up again_.

They found Homura's grandmother in front of the shrine with her head bowed. Just as Homura hesitantly opened her mouth to announce their presence, Kaufmann Erika straightened and turned towards them. She waved their unspoken concern away and gestured for them to sit. Homura sat beside Madoka.

"A present," was all her grandmother said before settling back into her chair. She sipped at her tea, hiding her smile when Madoka chimed eagerly, "Open it, Homura-chan!"

Homura thanked her grandmother politely (she would hug her but contact with anyone other than Madoka still made her uncomfortable) and curiously examined the small, rectangular package in her hands.

Careful hands meticulously removed the brown paper around the object. Homura soon had a stack of photos messily held together by a couple of rubber bands in her lap. Their edges were worn, cracked by time. Her breath hitched. There, in full color, was her mother.

Kaufmann Soma Miyako, named for her dark hair.

Wide eyes remained fixated on her mother's face. Her_ mother_.

Madoka began to lean in for a closer look, but caught Widow Kaufmann's intent gaze. When she had Madoka's attention, she jerked her head slightly in the direction of the kitchen. The pinkette hesitated, but Homura's grandmother stood fully and motioned for Madoka to follow. Reluctantly, Madoka followed her, glancing back.

Homura was hunched over, so she could not tell what was going on in Homura's mind, but the brief glimpse of wonderment she had seen eased her.

Curiosity could wait.

／人◕‿‿◕人＼

"How is my granddaughter doing, truly?" Kaufmann Erika paused, setting aside various sliced vegetables before continuing, "I read the report the doctors at Mitakihara Regional sent, but what about her magic?"

Madoka flinched, fingers rubbing at the wood of the table. "Well… she hasn't improved, but she hasn't _worsened_, either. Kyubey says that's the best we can hope for at this point, since tampering with Homura-chan's magic further could damage her soul or mind…

"Still, she's gotten better about taking care of herself. Like, she'll tell Mami-chan and Kyouko-chan when she's tired instead of hiding it, and she eats more now, has more of an appetite." Madoka brightened, looking at Widow Kaufmann. "That's the best part of all, I think. Even though Homura-chan's not as healthy, even though she has bad days, she hasn't given up—her depression isn't holding her back anymore!"

"My granddaughter," Widow Kaufmann declared as she seared eggplant and pumpkin, "is resilient, even if she struggles to be flexible." She briskly set up another pan, gesturing for Madoka to bring over the sliced garlic and beef.

Pink eyes attentively watched Homura's grandmother expertly handle both pans at once as Madoka absorbed the old woman's words.

'_Even if she struggles to be flexible_.'

"She's come a long way," Madoka mused aloud, "in the two years I've known her. There's a noticeable difference between Homura-chan in middle school and Homura-chan now."

She gazed towards the door, behind which Homura was probably immersed in the photos of her dearly-missed parents.

_Oh, Homura-chan_.

"She used to be so… so _bleak_ about everything. As if she was on the brink of giving up. I didn't know. She looked so cool, so put-together and amazing and she wanted to be _my _friend. That's all I thought about. Then, everything moved so quickly and Mami-chan almost _died_, Sayaka-chan, too—everything was so new and it was so easy to just, just get caught up in yourself and give up…"

Sizzling started up again when Mrs Kaufmann added carrots and potatoes to the beef. Madoka hastily handed her a casserole to transfer the seared eggplant and pumpkin.

"Kami, we were so lost," she continued, "even though we fervently denied it. We're _still _dealing with the aftermath. There's a lot of… jumbled-up feelings that weren't taken care of properly then, so they interfere in the now. But time heals all wounds, doesn't it? We're not stuck in an endless cycle anymore. Sure, it's an uphill battle, and we might not be able to change the world, but we've got each other.

"We have _hope_."

The widow Kaufmann sat down across Madoka, setting a timer to twenty minutes.

Neither spoke, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. For a while, the only sound was the simmering of the beef and the barely-audible _tick tock _of the clock, which eventually drew Madoka's attention.

Her contemplative gaze shifted to worry. Nearly half an hour had passed since she had left Homura alone; she could not help but fret.

_I mean, she needs time to take it all in and I shouldn't smother her, but still_.

Vague trepidations lingered in her mind. She tracked the clock's traitorously slow progression, willing the second hand to go faster.

_Ding! _went the timer, prompting Homura's grandmother to add onions; she reset the dial after stirring the beef and vegetable mixture. She then rummaged around a cupboard for a pack of curry blocks, pushing aside the spicier ones in favor of a milder flavor. Wouldn't want to give Homura heartburn, after all.

"Obaasan," Madoka spoke up suddenly, tearing her eyes away from the clock. Widow Kaufmann turned to face her.

The blush on the pinkette's face intrigued her, so she waved her hand, silently prompting Madoka to continue.

Her fingers pressed tightly against her skirt but she resisted the urge to fidget. After all, she was Kaname Junko's daughter in every way possible; she would live up to her mother's example.

"I intend to pursue a long-term relationship with Homura-chan," Madoka pronounced clearly, meeting the elder's gaze despite the red staining her cheeks. "I'm not asking for her hand in m-marriage," she added hastily.

_Even though I'm already thinking about it_, she wryly thought. _But there will be plenty of time for that, no matter what obstacles stand in our way!_

Kaufmann Erika considered Madoka.

She had soft pink hair that fell in loose waves to her shoulders, wide reddish-pink eyes that shone, and an earnest yet guarded round face. Dressed in a stylish white cardigan and dark blue plaid skirt, Madoka was the epitome of girlish beauty. Her personality was complex—airhead, timid, determined—but her hopeful heart remained constant.

Madoka was, in short, a good compliment for Homura's moodier nature.

"You have my blessing," Widow Kaufmann finally replied, "so long as you agree to accept responsibility for all the consequences of your actions.

Delight and relief instantly relaxed Madoka's demeanor. She nodded vigorously, promising, "I will!"

"Good." She turned back to the stove, anticipating the notice of the timer. Neat little cubes of sweet curry were mixed into the beef base. "Twenty minutes until the meal is ready."

Startled, the pinkette looked at the clock. "Oh!"

Nearly an hour had passed, making it six o' clock in the evening. The day felt as if it had flown by quickly. They would stay the night and eat an early breakfast here before returning to Mitakihara by noon. Homura-chan would stop at her apartment for another change of clothes and her uniform before joining Madoka at the Kaname home. Mama had the day off, so they'd probably go out to the park.

_I still have to finish that essay, though_. She pouted at the thought of the homework waiting for her at home. _At least I have most of it done… blah_.

While Homura's grandmother kept an eye on the food, Madoka went to the adjoining room to set the table. The dining room was reduced but had enough room to fit a four-person square table. A large window showcased a view of the garden, though it was little more than sowed soil. Would obaasan make a flower garden, like the window boxes she had had in her previous home, or would she plant vegetables instead?

Entering the kitchen again, Madoka waited impatiently for the curry to be ready so that she could call Homura in. Her fingers drummed relentlessly against her leg; she resisted the urge to kick her legs like a petulant child.

The moment Widow Kaufmann turned off the stove, Madoka jumped up, saying, "I'll get Homura-chan!"

She was out the door before the other could reply.

Shaking her head, she told the empty air, "Remember when we were young, Axel?"

* * *

Emotions were not her forte.

Dealing with emotions even less so.

Holed up in a hospital, on the brink of dying and pumped full of drugs, her lack of social interaction had not mattered. All she had had were books and awkward conversations with well-meaning but distant medical personnel.

No one could have taken the place of her mother and father. Not the sisters at the orphanage, not her ill grandmother, not the nurses who took care of her when all she wanted was to die.

But she had forgotten. She, a fundamentally passive person, had forgone the past and tried to fight destiny.

It sounded poetic.

The reality was grislier than she allowed herself to remember.

As in the saying, "out of the frying pan and into the fire," Homura had gone from one turbulent existence to another just as harrowing.

The result was a girl lacking in emotional competency. She managed by transforming into the "cool," aloof persona that everyone in this timeline was familiar with, but that façade had not held up well after defeating Walpurgisnacht.

Madoka had helped her—was _still _helping her—become a functioning person. It helped that strong vestiges of the original Homura remained; her desire to fit in and be accepted had survived just enough to be a healthy goal instead of the obsessive self-loathing that it had been when she was at the hospital the second time.

That did _not_ guarantee that she would handle emotions well at any given time.

So she sat there, clutching photographs of her late parents and steadfastly glaring at some vague point to her left.

_I was not dreaming when they told me you were gone*_.

Salt touched her lips. Oh, she was crying. A perfectly reasonable response, not to mention healthy, but she did not want to damage the precious photos so she hastily wiped her face with a handkerchief (a present from Madoka).

Grimacing, Homura twisted the handkerchief between the fingers of her left hand.

It felt like an eternity ago. Her parents were practically strangers—they had little presence in her mind.

That hurt. Forgetting okasan and otousan had happened naturally, quietly, _unconsciously_, but consciously _realizing_ that she had forgotten them felt like a betrayal. Her world had not always consisted of only Madoka.

Clutched in her hand were tangible reminders of what were only fuzzy memories in her head.

She sighed, her scowl taking on a resentful tinge. They would not have to bemere fuzzy memories if they had just stayed _alive_.

Was that a theme? Everyone she wanted alive inevitably ended up doing the exact opposite.

_I needed you_.

_They had to be wrong—how could you leave me when you had said you would come back? All I had were broken promises and emptiness where you used to be_.

She sighed, running her fingers over her ring. They had left a yawning void in her heart, true, but had been a ragged void in her heart had long since softened into a dull ache. At least, that's how it had been, before her soul had been shoved into a new container and threw her equilibrium off balance.

A few breathing exercises would help, then. She counted down from a hundred, pairing each inhale and exhale with a number in a steady beat.

Bored at sixty, Homura deemed herself relaxed enough to continue—that is, to actually _look_ at the photos in her hands instead of pouncing on every distraction that presented itself.

One deep breath later, she looked at the top picture. Her mother smiled back at her. A small, contented smile. She was young, judging by the fullness of her face and long hair, her face not worn shallow and hair not limp with exhaustion. Her jaw clenched. She wore glasses—a frame similar to her old one.

Tousan had once told her that her mother had stopped wearing glasses because baby Homura had liked to grab and play with them. They had the same eyes, he had said fondly. Everyone used to say that—now she had proof.

The next was also of her mother, though not a headshot. Kaufmann Miyako was hunched over some papers—work? University studies? Her hair reached her waist, much like Homura's did, though without the part created by braids.

Kami, she missed her mother so much.

Subsequent photos included her grandfather, and later still her father came in. Akemi Kenshin—Homura remembered him better. She remembered waking up in his arms after operations. He was more affectionate than most men—being a policeman and having his wife die had likely heightened his awareness of life's brevity.

Homesickness heavily lodged in her throat, Homura lovingly fixed the stack of photos and replaced the rubber band. She let her hands shake.

She cleared her throat and wiped her face with her handkerchief.

_I _am_ picking up the pieces of my life, okasan, otousan. I am learning, _living_. Even if fate tries to take my life away, I won't give up_.

_One last dance_.

／人◕‿‿◕人＼

"Homura-chan!" Madoka threw herself at a startled Homura, making them both topple.

"Hng," Homura grunted, completely winded but also keenly aware of how Madoka was practically lying on top of her. Drawing breath almost sent her into sensory overload. "M-Madoka… y-you're squishing me…."

Face red, Madoka scrambled off Homura and apologetically helped her up. "Gomen, Homura-chan. It's been an hour—guess I got carried away," she giggled nervously as she straightened Homura's clothes.

Eyebrows shot up in response. "Really," she murmured, letting Madoka fuss over her.

"Mhm. Dinner's ready!" Madoka said. She stepped back, realizing how hungry she was now that she was not worrying.

Homura had other ideas in mind. "I'm sorry about earlier," she said softly, shoulders slumping as she peered guiltily at Madoka from beneath her bangs.

"E-eh?" The pinkette's thoughts immediately jumped to their kiss on the train, but she waited for Homura to clarify. She did not want to pressure her into anything—Homura's health came first (a gnawing worry of hers).

But instead of answering directly, the ex-time-traveler affectionately reached for her with lithe hands, drawing her close. Tenderly, their lips met briefly and separated.

Madoka looked like she had stars in her eyes. Smirking slightly at the pinkette's boundless bubbliness, Homura let her go and continued making her way to the kitchen. Just before entering, she glanced back purposefully and haughtily flipped her hair, chuckling quietly.

Pouting, Madoka hastily followed her through the kitchen and into the dining room.

Widow Kaufmann was waiting patiently at the table, one eyebrow cocked questioningly. Two other bowls were set out on either side of her.

Madoka and Homura hastily bowed. Upon straightening, Homura said in her normal low voice, "Gomen nasai, obaasan." When she offered no explanation, Madoka opened her mouth account for their tardiness, but the widow simply waved the apology away and gestured for them to sit.

The old woman waited until Homura was eating before replying. "Yes, 'gomen, obaasan—I decided to eat my girlfriend instead of the dinner you so graciously prepared.' Humph! Children these days, so disrespectful," she grumbled, ignoring Homura's choked sputtering. She studiously turned away, though she winked at an equally embarrassed Madoka.

Mortified, Homura reached for a glass of water. Madoka hid her own red face behind the steaming curry and rice.

Homura gulped down half the glass as she glared at her grandmother, who merely chuckled in response.

Peaceful silence reigned once more.

Relaxing, Homura glanced at Madoka across from her; she wrinkled her nose when she realized that the pinkette had added pepper flakes to her curry. She had a surprising taste for spicy food, whereas Homura refrained from anything above very mild piquancy. A second glass of water rested beside her plate for just that reason.

"Did you enjoy your present?" her grandmother spoke suddenly.

Madoka looked up, interest clearly written on her face.

Wiping her mouth carefully with a napkin, Homura nodded, not quite knowing what to say.

_It made me very emotional, but I _did _enjoy seeing my parents again_.

"…I had forgotten what okasan looked like," she admitted. _I never looked at the pictures you have up_.

Her grandmother tapped her chopsticks against her bowl. "Almost thirteen years," she replied. Madoka shifted in her seat, a rare frown on her face, not pacified by the reassuring smile Homura sent her way.

"Time softens the blow," she said. Widow Kaufmann nodded in agreement; Madoka watched them silently. "Would you… would you like to see them, Madoka?" she tentatively asked.

Surprised, Madoka agreed, "If you want, Homura-chan." Homura had never mentioned her parents other than curtly telling her once that they had died when she was little; Kaufmann Erika was the only family Madoka knew Homura had. She respected Homura's boundaries, though.

"Fleeting," Homura murmured, "ephemeral lives…."

Madoka hummed.

"There's a lot of pain," she continued, "but we make it count… we move forward and we make it count. At least to ourselves."

Because they may not change world but they could change themselves.

And that would have to be enough, for this was their last dance.

/\

* * *

**A/N:** _Embedded lyrics and chapter title translated and paraphrased from Indila's "Dernière Danse."_

_* Borrowed and rephrased lyrics from RWBY's "Red Like Roses Part II."_

_Wow I spent so long on this. I should work on the next chapter of "The Bodyguard and the Client," huh? You know, I'd write more if I read less, lol. Also, formatting in FF is kinda messed up -grumbles.- **Did I confuse you guys with the dream sequence thing in the beginning?**  
_

_I'm tired, you know that? Then there's the whole of the world - Gaza, Ukraine/Russia, Ferguson._

_Constructive criticism, anyone? Next installment will feature Mami and Kyouko!  
_

_Also, shout out to madoka-daily! _-Teddy.


	2. Room for Happiness

_Note: Despite the title, "Cool Kids" by Echosmith is a good song to listen to whilst reading, or "Superhero" by Tim McMorris, which sets a different tone.  
_

**Room for Happiness**

"'Happily ever after' fairytales? Really?" Kyouko scoffed.

Frowning, Mami pressed a forefinger to her lips as she ushered the redhead out. She glanced back before turning off the lights, smiling at Nagisa already tangled up in the blankets. She left the bedroom door open just a tad.

When she turned to address Kyouko, however, the other had already left for the kitchen. Mami sighed. Tomorrow she would have to send Nagisa and Yuma for groceries again.

At least she had tonight free. Homura, Sayaka, and Yuma had the rotation for the next two days.

She joined Kyouko in the kitchen, but silently took stock of the cupboards instead of talking to the sullen redhead, who crunched moodily on a stick of celery.

_Fish, some more dried seaweed, running a bit low on rice, too…_. They still had some fresh and canned vegetables—those tended to run out more slowly than the pastries—but they definitely needed to replenish the herb supply. She jotted everything down.

"Don't forget to put down paper towels," Kyouko grumbled from across the table. Those crimson eyes had been watching her, she knew, but had turned away when Mami faced her.

She nodded anyway, adding the item to her list along with celery, for Kyouko had evidently finished the last of it.

What fruits should she buy this week? Nagisa would insist on strawberries to dunk liberally in cream cheese, but she needed more variety in her diet. Apples sounded good, though—she could make a nice apple pie, or try out that recipe Madoka had given her last week.

"Cut the crap, Mami. I know you're still mad," Kyouko broke the silence again.

The blonde tightened her grip on her notebook, but deigned to reply, "Then I am sure you know _why _I am still angry, Sakura-san." She looked at her former kouhai, lips set in a thin line.

Kyouko glared at the wall, apparently still refusing to look at Mami, so she left the notebook on the counter and withdrew from the kitchen. She knew Kyouko would follow.

Once she reached her bedroom, a foot shot out, preventing her from shutting the door. Yellow glared at red, who grimaced but whispered hoarsely, "Please, Mami. Don't be like this."

Mami bit her lip, stepping back to let Kyouko enter. She closed the door softly behind the other girl (Nagisa would hopefully sleep peacefully until Yuma came back).

She faced Kyouko again. _Will this be the last time?_

She could feel her control slipping. What had taken so much work to build could be destroyed in but a single moment. One wrong move, one misplaced word, one argument too many… could bring it all down. They both knew it.

"Just… we know better, don't we?" Kyouko resumed hesitantly, bouncing on the balls of her feet, reining in her impetuousness. Mami remained standing awkwardly by the door, eyes half-shut.

"This isn't happily-ever-after, Mami," she pressed, shoving her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. "You can't—you can't expect us to always be happy an' carefree like how you like to tell the runts."

Mami looked at her fully, but with tears filling her eyes she could not see much beyond colorful impressions. "I would think"—her voice trembled and she hated it—"that you know well enough to come to me instead of—of running off!"

This time, Kyouko dropped her gaze, hunching her shoulders.

"Sa—_Kyouko_. This is not about my outlook on life, and you _know _that full well!" She placed her hands on her cheeks, closing her eyes and breathing deeply to keep the tears from falling.

_I'm sorry. I've built a life around you, Kyouko—please, _please_ don't leave me again_.

(In other timelines, she had gone insane. Here, she had a tenuous grip on stability. She was conscious of neither fact.)

"You've been hanging around Madoka too much," the redhead muttered recalcitrantly, but she immediately backtracked. "You guys have the right idea, I know, I'm sorry," she said, gnawing on the inside of her lower lip.

Hesitance did not suit Kyouko well.

She kicked at the floor now, bright red eyes troubled. "Just… it's hard. I was upset 'cause I'd almost gotten Nagisa killed, so I ran. I didn't want to see you disappointed with me," she confessed softly.

Mami lowered her hands. Kyouko had mellowed out since moving in with her, but she had simultaneously become a bundle of unease and pessimism. She feared she had put too much on Kyouko's shoulders, who tried so hard.

Was living supposed to be this difficult?

"You don't have to stay," she murmured at last, wringing her hands, expression tight.

Frustration crossed her friend's face as she began to pace. "No! That's not what I meant—unless you want me to go…," she trailed off, hurt deepening her frown.

When Mami did not reply, Kyouko insisted, desperation bleeding into her voice, "You don't want me to go, right, Mami?" She abruptly stopped her pacing.

She met Kyouko's gaze fleetingly. "I—I want you to stay, but not if it's _caging _you," she clarified, as terrified as Kyouko.

They stared at each other indefinitely.

"Fuck, Mami," Kyouko said mournfully. "I'm only sixteen and you're jus' seventeen, but here we are, playin' adults to two thirteen-year-olds. Pretendin' like we know what we're doin' when we can jus' barely keep ourselves t'gether.

"An' I _know _I've said this before,"—she ran her hands through her hair—"that we've had this argument b'fore…. Why aren't we satisfied?" she asked plaintively.

Mami sighed, shoulders finally drooping. "I don't know, but every time we thought we wouldn't make it—well, we're here now, Kyouko. Let us… let us keep trying until it works, until we can live without constantly looking over our shoulders," she begged her.

Kyouko scoffed, but she strode forward and picked up the shorter girl into an embrace. "You hang around Madoka too much," she repeated fondly.

"It's okay, you know," Mami added suddenly. The desperation in her chest eased, letting her breathe more easily again. "Nagisa knows the risks, and she knows that her safety and life are in her own hands—we can't always rely on someone else to save us.

"Don't beat yourself up over it," the veteran murmured against her once-kouhai's shoulder.

Throat constricted, Kyouko nodded.

After all, blame already weighed heavily on each of them.

／人◕‿‿◕人＼

Kyouko picked up the little notebook Mami had left behind.

Everything was neatly, meticulously written down. Mami had put tomorrow's date at the top, followed by bullet points that would tell the runts what to buy and how much of it.

Flipping back, she found nearly all the pages filled with grocery and shopping lists, each one with a date in the header and careful specifications accompanying it. Mami would run out of pages soon.

She put the notebook down. God, the girl cared so much—_too _much.

Passing a hand over her tired face, she left a small envelope beneath the notebook before retiring to the living room. She knew she would not prefer Tomoe Mami—or their eclectic family—any other way.

_Maybe one day I'll have room for happiness, too_.

* * *

"Stupid _idiot_," she snarled, though not as loudly as she would have liked.

Glowering, she cracked her knuckles before jumping to her feet. The living room clock read just past one in the morning. Mami and the runts had gone to bed several hours earlier without a fuss.

Kyouko, on the other hand, remained wide awake despite feeling worn and torn. Well, the late hour was no bother, since, you know, she had no job to drag her out of bed anymore.

Not that she had told Mami yet; yesterday, she had pretended to go to work and had come home at the usual hour.

_Couldn't even keep a job for a year, could you? _

Restless, she left her fold-out bed in favor of prowling around in the kitchen. She opened cupboards, took boxes out, put them back, and opened and closed the refrigerator, but she refrained from consuming anything.

Her hands rand through her hair, leaving some locks sticking out. Eventually, she gave in, gorging on the leftover cheesecake Nagisa had made.

_Eh, kid eats too many sweets anyway_.

She jerked and choked when the lights turned on.

"Kyouko-san!" She thumped at her chest, wheezing and not really paying attention to the fussing blonde, but gratefully took the proffered glass of water.

Clearing her throat one last time, Kyouko finally glared at Mami properly; her look softened to sheepishness upon realizing that she had been caught eating past regular hours. She added it to her list of that week's transgressions.

"Erm… I couldn't sleep 'cause it kept _calling _to me, okay?" she instinctively spouted.

Mami smiled but shook her head as she took a seat across the redhead.

Kyouko sighed. Mami knew her ticks pretty well, so she would not be able to avoid a serious conversation now. Still, she toyed with the last forkful on her plate, reluctant to meet Mami's eyes.

Unfortunately, the veteran excelled in patience (usually, anyway). They sat in silence—something they found themselves doing very often—until Kyouko gave in.

"I got fired two days ago."

"Oh." Mami blinked, genuinely startled, but she remained sympathetic. "Is that what has been bothering you?"

Kyouko shrugged. "I talked back to one of the supervisors, and the manager happened to overhear, so he fired me." She shoveled the remainder of the cheesecake into her mouth. Her cheeks puffed out as she frowned at her empty plate.

Mami stood and flitted around the kitchen. The younger girl watched as the elder forewent the stove in favor of boiling water more quickly in the microwave. Heh, she had known it would come in handy.

A steaming cup of tea appeared in front of her. Yellow drills bobbed as Mami sat down again. "Just give a couple of stirs, and _careful_. It's still hot," she said.

Ignoring the advice, Kyouko gulped it down, shivering at the searing heat. Mami rolled her eyes, but she continued, "It's not okay that you got fired, but… maybe it's for the best."

"Wait, what?" Kyouko stared in askance at her partner.

"Maybe it's time for a break," Mami suggested carefully, swirling her own tea around. "You've been stressed lately, what with Homura's relapse and working extra hours. Take some time to… wind down."

Bristling, her fellow magical girl demanded, "Are you suggestin' that I can't pull my own weight?"

Mami adamantly shook her head, a frown marring her face, golden eyes flashing. "If you would _listen _to me, Kyouko-san, you would know that I would not suggest such a thing! Your lack of employment—no, let us not beat around the bush. You're afraid I'm going to find excuses to leave you, right?

"Well, I am _not _going to abandon you, and I would appreciate it if you would put a little more faith in me," she retorted.

Body taut, instinctively on the verge of confrontation, Kyouko grit her teeth at her once-senpai's words. Nonetheless, she stayed herself; she knew she should feel contrite.

She loved to goad Mami, didn't she? The urge to destroy something beautiful…. Although it galled her, it lured her in, ensnared her in a web of vicious oblivion. That they knew each other well meant that they could _wound _each other viciously.

This could escalate. Or—

"That's not what I meant," Mami's weary voice amended at last, though she remained stern.

Looking down at her tea, her own weary eyes looked back at Kyouko. She sighed. "Same," she offered.

How immature—irrational—they sometimes were.

Mami shook her head, covering a yawn as she did so. Her shoulders slumped, the antagonism sapped out of her.

"Did I wake you up?" Kyouko asked loudly, banishing their conversation and tense silence as she finally noticed the bags under Mami's eyes.

Mami blinked, hesitating briefly before replying, "I felt thirsty." She glanced down at her untouched drink.

Eyes narrowing, Kyouko rapped her knuckles against the table. "Bullshit," she declared. "Somethin's botherin' you, so spill."

Her mouth twisted in a grimace, prompting Kyouko to get up and exit the kitchen. Disappointment flared in Mami's heart, but she crushed it as she brought her tea to her lips. She could not quite hide her surprise and relief when Kyouko returned.

Smirking—but eyes knowingly apologetic—the younger girl shook the box in her hand. Pocky slipped out; Mami's hand shot out to catch a couple falling sticks.

They smiled at each other briefly before Mami's somber mood returned.

"There is—" she hesitated. Kyouko gestured towards the Pocky; Mami obligingly nibbled on one as she deliberated. "I think there's something wrong with my soul gem," she announced at last.

"You think so?" her fellow magical girl frowned, examining Mami once again.

Nothing out of the ordinary popped up, except for the blonde's strange exhaustion. Mahou shoujo did not usually remain that tired, right?

Mami broke a Pocky stick into pieces compulsively, explaining, "Maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me… there's something, but I cannot pin what exactly."

Dubious, Kyouko shook her head. "Just 'something'?" Her usual skepticism tainted her voice.

"I don't _know_, okay!" Mami shouted, hands slamming down on the table, making Kyouko jerk back. "It's—it's just—just _something_!"

"Hey, hey, keep it down," Kyouko reprimanded her, but her own expression reflected something from Mami's. Hints of panic lurked in that usually-serene face—they inexplicably made Kyouko recoil and cover her soul's ring with her other hand.

(They both must really be stressed if they were reacting like this.)

Mami leant forward, oblivious, "Here, I will _show _you." A trembling hand summoned her soul gem. Kyouko closed her eyes before forcing herself to shift closer.

Yellow light glowed warmly, but just a smudge of roiling darkness pooled at the bottom like oil.

"No matter how many grief seeds I use, _it will not go away_."

They stared at her soul gem.

Uneasiness renewed, Kyouko fumbled for a grief seed in her jacket, hastily pressing it to Mami's soul.

Not a bit of darkness floated into the grief seed. She summoned her own soul gem and did the same; the little swirls stuck a little but soon disappeared. Mami looked sickened.

"We'll—" Kyouko licked her lips—"we'll figure something out. Okay? Don't freak out." (Something told her to fear for her life.)

Mami pressed a hand to her temple, against the headache that bloomed there.

_Did I wish to live only to die at the very hands of my wish? We should—_

Something lurched in her chest.

_No, no, no—one hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven, ninety-seven, ninety-six—_

She took deep breaths. Homura-san would help her, or Madoka. She could not let herself be fooled by the encroaching emptiness.

Kyouko fiddled with the mug in her hands, saying, trying to reassure them both, "Next time we meet, we're gonna have to bring it up… but for now there's no use in worryin'."

"Indeed," Mami murmured. She collected Kyouko's cup and dropped it off at the sink.

The redhead also stood, noting, "Guess it's time I let ya sleep, eh?" She rolled her shoulders. "Gah—stupid couch mattress has no back support," she joked, though her eyes watched Mami warily.

After flicking off the kitchen lights, Mami followed Kyouko to the living room. She motioned for her to wait. Puzzled, Kyouko watched the blonde take up one of her pillows (slowly, the fearful anxiousness that had gripped her began to ease).

"You know, Nagisa and Yuma already spend most of their time in Nagisa's bedroom—why not take the other?" Mami asked as she fluffed up the pillows. She could do this. She had room for happiness; she felt lighter already.

Shuffling awkwardly, the redhead shook her head. "What if they get into a fight an' Yuma wants to use her room, or something? Nah, they need their privacy; I'm good here. I don't need more than a bed an' free use of the kitchen, whereas they're growin' teens."

"If you say so, Kyouko-_nee-chan_," the blonde teased.

Beet-red, Kyouko scowled, grumbling, "Shut up."

Mami stepped back, letting the other clamber onto the fold-out bed. She brushed her fingers against her soul's ring. It had lingered in her mind lately, making her feel empty… leeching away at her composure.

Just as she made to leave, Kyouko spoke up. "Don't forget, the runts are countin' on ya… and me, too," she appended begrudgingly. Might as well be truthful, eh?

Heart swelling, Mami smiled at the mop of unruly red hair peeking from under the blanket.

"Good night, Kyouko."

"Yeah, yeah, g'night. Wait!" she sat up hastily.

Mami turned back, again, exasperated fondness in her expression. She cocked an eyebrow at the redhead's serious demeanor.

"We've reached the mushiness quota for this month, okay? No more feelings an' stuff until May—got it?" Kyouko demanded.

A laugh escaped Mami, her smile radiant.

"Okay, Kyouko-san, okay."

/\

* * *

**A/N: **_Title and embedded lyrics borrowed from Kaskade's "Room for Happiness" ft. Skylar Grey [what a beautiful name]. I didn't mean for it to happen, but this is a thing now: every installment takes its title from a song that I've repurposed. The songs don't naturally tie-in with the chapter themes [case in point, "Room for Happiness"], but I take some lyrics and rework them to say what I want them to say._

_If that doesn't make sense, it's okay, it's not important._

_Woo, heavy on conversation this time, eh? Both in the work and in the end note, haha. Also, apparently I change lanes a lot when writing. A relatively short chapter this time; did I mention that chapter lengths prolly won't hit 10k ever again? I'm getting flexible with length, so some may be as short as a 100 word drabble or as long as 6k, but kinda medium range._

_Next part... Nagisa and Yuma, or maybe another Mami + Kyouko one. I haven't decided yet - feel free to voice your opinions, by the way! ^^ constructive criticism always appreciated._

_Also! "The Bodyguard and the Client" is on a long vacation until I decide whether to salvage what I have [which would mean also figuring out where I want to go with the story] or to rewrite it entirely into a normal bodyguard AU or... some alternate path. Feel free to add your input in the poll on my profile. ~_Teddy.


	3. White Robe

**A/N: **_This chapter was based on t.A.T.u's "White Robe." Just a drabble._

* * *

**White Robe**

Mami sighed.

She did that a lot lately. Such a versatile expression.

Usually in fond exasperation, sometimes in relief, occasionally in helplessness—her sighs conveyed a wide range of emotions. Though, she didn't think she had ever sighed in _anger_.

Had she ever felt anger? _Could_ she even feel it? Everything else, yes, such as those frightening fits of madness that left her shaken for days afterwards. But fury, wrath, rage… those remained foreign to her. The closest she had come was that brief hatred for Kyubey, but that had given way quickly.

Then again, that complex emotion that seized her in quiet lulls resembled anger—one directed solely at herself, but anger nonetheless.

To others, however, she bore no rage of any kind. Essentially, she had no right to anger, just as she had no right to complain. Now, she could only make the best of it in whatever way she could.

She picked up her neglected book, flipping back to the correct page and willing the words to register. She read the same sentence twice. Then, she focused properly; she reached the end of the stanza but drifted back to her thoughts in the white space between that last line and the first of the next character.

Really, she was too young to have to think about the long-term future, to have to shoulder the wellbeing of others. Things not even guaranteed to her, nor to those under her so-called protection—

Why bother with "playing house," with going to school, with other people? Perhaps Kyouko had had the right idea when she had left four—was it already four?—years ago.

That was the question.

Not the "to be or not to be" of this selfish Prince Hamlet, but instead, "Why?"

Why live? For duty to the greater good, for a noble-naïve sense of justice, for selfish fear of the unknown? Who—_who _in their right mind would wish for eternity when a moment contained too much to bear?What reasons did they have that enabled them to move forward without something to weigh them down?

Mami did not want to die. In that split second she had wished for life, and she would do so again if she could. But did she want to live or to _live_?

Her life, so full of color—literally—yet lacking so painfully in something nameless. She did not want to die, not yet, not ever so long as she still lacked reason to live. That in and of itself was a reason, but not reason enough.

Time moved inexorably forward, a theme reflected in so many despairing works and a lesson repeated every moment of one's life, sometimes adamantly present at the forefront, sometimes shoved behind plans upon plans.

She knew her time ran low; it made her cling desperately to what she had, to rail and revolt and search for that elusive answer anywhere, everywhere she could reach.

In the end… if not for herself, then for them. As good a reason as any.

And so she lived to see another day.

* * *

**A/N:** _The lyrics from "White Robe" fit in rather well with Mami and her story._

_I know it's just a drabble, but I've been working on something Freezerburn-related lately; I'm like 75% finished with it so I decided to dedicate today's stolen moments at uni to Madoka Magica. It's not quite what I had in mind, heh. The original chapter three now might become chapter four, or even five. Who knows!_

_To anyone who's read "The Bodyguard and the Client" - **please vote on the poll I've up on my**** profile.** __I_ _have yet to make a decision, whelp. ~Teddy._


End file.
